Self Awareness
It was a gorgeous night, clear and cool. February is a time of year I always remember for being intensively, bitterly cold -- the kind of month you don't ever want to leave the safety of your blankets in the morning -- but in the past few years it seems like Ontario winters were getting milder and milder. It couldn't have been more than minus six or seven degrees out... maybe ten with the wind chill. The only snow on the ground was that stubborn hard icy mounds with a sprinkling of dust-like blown snow; mostly the stuff that would be there until May, give or take.
It was in a field not far from the Scarborough Bluffs. A few trees kept the wind at bay and the land was nice and flat. Some well frozen tall grass stood tall, swaying lightly in the night air. The air was dry and crisp, and the sky was completely devoid of clouds. I popped out my camera, my trusty Fuji E900. This is why I came out. I wanted some night landscape shots for my next piece, and tonight was the ideal night to do it. Batteries were charged and my tripod was strapped haphazardly to my back, so I was prepped.
I took a few shots around the field. Cold looking trees illuminated by street lights in the distance. A patch of tall grass from low to the ground -- they looked like they were touching the sky. I paused and looked up to the empty air. The stars seemed lonely with the blackened new moon; it's outline was clearly visible, almost like it was simply taking some personal time to itself.
I fixed the camera to my tripod and lined up some shots of the sky. Stars interrupted by the black circle between me and them. They seemed to just hang there and go on forever. So far away... moving so fast, and yet we could hardly even tell they moved at all. I clicked the shutter.
I wasn't expecting the disassociating sensation that came next. Like someone decided to make me objectively aware of my physical frame of reference, a small point on the surface of the globe, spinning about wildly in the solar system, which itself was spinning and hurtling across space at incredible speeds. My skin felt like it was being peeled away from my bones, my stomach couldn't decide which way was which and was thrown about inside my innards. There was a deafening silence, seeming paradoxical in contrast to the incredible speeds. One expects the rush of air, but the vacuum was not as accommodating.
I think I threw up, but I never did see a puddle of vomit anywhere. I came to feeling dizzier than the worst drunk and more nauseous than I could remember. I steadied myself against my tripod for just a part of a second before I came back to myself.
It was two days later that I uploaded my camera to my computer. The picture didn't turn out at all. Figures.
It was in a field not far from the Scarborough Bluffs. A few trees kept the wind at bay and the land was nice and flat. Some well frozen tall grass stood tall, swaying lightly in the night air. The air was dry and crisp, and the sky was completely devoid of clouds. I popped out my camera, my trusty Fuji E900. This is why I came out. I wanted some night landscape shots for my next piece, and tonight was the ideal night to do it. Batteries were charged and my tripod was strapped haphazardly to my back, so I was prepped.
I took a few shots around the field. Cold looking trees illuminated by street lights in the distance. A patch of tall grass from low to the ground -- they looked like they were touching the sky. I paused and looked up to the empty air. The stars seemed lonely with the blackened new moon; it's outline was clearly visible, almost like it was simply taking some personal time to itself.
I fixed the camera to my tripod and lined up some shots of the sky. Stars interrupted by the black circle between me and them. They seemed to just hang there and go on forever. So far away... moving so fast, and yet we could hardly even tell they moved at all. I clicked the shutter.
I wasn't expecting the disassociating sensation that came next. Like someone decided to make me objectively aware of my physical frame of reference, a small point on the surface of the globe, spinning about wildly in the solar system, which itself was spinning and hurtling across space at incredible speeds. My skin felt like it was being peeled away from my bones, my stomach couldn't decide which way was which and was thrown about inside my innards. There was a deafening silence, seeming paradoxical in contrast to the incredible speeds. One expects the rush of air, but the vacuum was not as accommodating.
I think I threw up, but I never did see a puddle of vomit anywhere. I came to feeling dizzier than the worst drunk and more nauseous than I could remember. I steadied myself against my tripod for just a part of a second before I came back to myself.
It was two days later that I uploaded my camera to my computer. The picture didn't turn out at all. Figures.